


How To Save A Life

by Beki1507



Series: Fortuitous [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, One Shot, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, canon compliant swearing/slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 22:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beki1507/pseuds/Beki1507
Summary: Mickey is having a great week. So when he runs up on the dude who is about to jump off the bridge, he's not letting the inconsiderate jerk ruin his good mood.Ian is having a bad week and needs to set his family free. So he's not enjoying having some selfish dude decide that he doesn't want to witness his plan.





	How To Save A Life

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: Like the tags say, this deals with suicide. There are mentions of three different attempts. There is also canon-compliant language and one use of a word that I despise. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this little fic. Feel free to leave kudos and comments.

He pulled the blue fleecy blanket back from over his head, trying to make out the conversation occurring just outside his door. His mind was less fuzzy now, the edges becoming more defined, though still not completely back to normal. He huffed a small laugh at the concept of normal. His normal. His normal, which was vastly different from his sister’s normal, or his brother’s, or his manager. He craned his head up slightly, making sure the pillow wasn’t muffling his right ear

“I just don’t understand why he needs to go to New York tomorrow.” Fiona was whispering, trying to keep as quiet as possible but still convey the frustration she felt. He could hear his manager, Ned, lighting a cigarette, sure to be doing it on purpose as Fiona was trying to quit. 

“Because, Fiona, he has obligations to fulfil. I’ve covered for him for the last two weeks during this episode. Do you know how hard it is to pretend that he doesn’t have mental issues? It would be easier if he were an alcoholic or a junkie. No one wants a crazy actor. While he’s still young, we can get away with a multitude of sins, but the moment they know he is bipolar, the jobs will dry up and you can say hello to Southside again. Do you really want to go back, tail between your legs?” He could just imagine the indignation on Fiona’s face. It was true that they were all riding on his coat tails. Ever since he decided at 14 to randomly audition for a one scene part in this indie flick. Quite unexpectedly, he had managed to carve out a career that now meant he lived part time in Chicago and the rest in Los Angeles. He’d moved his entire family to the North side, bought a house for him, Fiona and Liam, and two small apartments for Debbie and Carl. Lip had declined, choosing to just rent off him in Los Angeles. Either way, he had been their meal ticket and they all knew that if this ended for Ian, it ended for them too. He heard Fiona sigh heavily before knocking gingerly at the door. He called out softly for her to enter. 

“Hey sweetface, you feeling better?” He pushed the blanket further down his body, before scooting over slightly so she could sit. She ran her hand through his hair, thankful that he was now cognisant enough to have showered and washed it. This combination of pills seemed to be working, finally, but that also meant it was back to reality, “So I’ve been talking to Ned and he thinks it would be good for you to go to New York tomorrow. You have a meeting on Monday with some studio and a photoshoot on Tuesday for the new film. He’s booked you both on the 3pm flight tomorrow. You think you’ll be up to going?” Ian gave her a weak smile, knowing he didn’t really have a choice.

“Sure Fi, I’ll get my things sorted in a little while. We’ll go to New York tomorrow.” Fiona stood from the bed, a small reassured smile on her face. She kissed the top of her brother’s head before wandering out of the room. “Hey Fi, thank you. For everything.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She said as she pulled the door closed behind her. 

Ian was tired. Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. He could see the pain he caused his family. When it was good for him, everyone benefited. He was productive, happy, would happily walk over hot coals to make sure everyone and everything was satisfied. But when it was bad, when the combination of pills stopped working and his mind was screwing him over, then it was disastrous. He ran his index finger over the scar on his chest. The first attempt. It wasn’t like his mother, back on Thanksgiving, when she had taken the kitchen knife to both wrists and slashed. This was one drunken night, before he had been officially diagnosed. He just needed to have a break. Just some time to rest and step back for a little while. So when the wine glass had broken in his hand and he saw the jagged edge that remained, he wondered if he pressed it deep enough whether it would break the skin. And then if he went further, would it cause significant bleeding. And then, before he could think anymore, Carl had wandered into the kitchen and cried out to the family for help. Fifteen stitches and a 72 hour psych hold. It wasn’t a successful attempt but at that point, he didn’t want to die. Just rest.

The second time, after dealing with this thing in his mind for 4 years and having suffered from his worst down phase, he realised that he was simply a burden to his family. They shouldn’t have to deal with his shit. The days when he could not move from his bed, so he ended up sleeping on soiled sheets, his hair matted, food cold on the bedside table. The times when Ned was forced to lie on his behalf to make sure that no one found out about the personal torture he experienced away from the cameras. The way that everyone would walk on eggshells to make sure that they didn’t upset him, though none of them really understanding that it was actions like that which upset him. Did they even care to understand? So he managed to get some insulin from one of the nurses that he charmed at his doctors practice. Got it under the guise of it being for a friend. Although he was gay, he knew his charms worked on everyone; charms and good looks. Unfortunately, he hadn’t counted on Debbie being privy to the conversation and realising something was amiss. This time it was a month in a psychiatric unit, though Ned quite helpfully addressed this as time in rehab for “exhaustion”. It had been 43 months, 3 weeks and 2 days since he left that facility. And 42 months, 2 weeks and 1 day until his pills stopped working and he dropped cataclysmically into a low which had scared everyone. Now the pills were balanced and he was mobile once more, he knew what he needed to do. 

****

Mickey Milkovich sipped the last of his beer before loudly banging it back on the bar. It was a Friday night and he was enjoying the third of the night following a successful week. He looked across to his work mates and smiled broadly. 5 years he’d been in this job and finally he felt settled. After grabbing his sister and making a new life for them out of their childhood home, a term he used very loosely, he was content, making his way in life, away from the dark shadow of his father. The fact that his dad had passed away 2 weeks previous was neither here nor there to his current buoyant mood. 

“Kev, another round? Oh and hit me with a shot of tequila.” Though he and Mandy had left their dad’s house, they had remained close to the Southside. Enough that the Alibi was still his local. It was a shit hole but it was their shit hole. He threw the shot down his neck and distributed the beers. He reasoned he would stay for another game of pool then wander back home, stick on some porn and knock one out before sleeping through until Sunday. It had been a heavy week finishing the latest McMansion in North side, but the job was done and they were ahead of schedule. Thank you bonus!

He won the game comfortably and grabbed his coat. Handing over the money to cover the tab and a little extra for Kev, he slipped a cigarette into his mouth in anticipation of leaving the building. Swaggering down the street, Mickey realised that he wasn’t quite ready to go home. He walked down the road and carried on, not really having a destination in mind. He wasn’t someone who would normally take himself on random walks. However, there was something about tonight that made his feet walk in a certain direction and he seemingly had no control over it. His alcohol buzz was fading, so he figured he’d find a liquor store somewhere, grab a bottle of Jack. 

Mickey had just lit his third cigarette of the walk when he came to a bridge crossing the river. Standing up ahead was a lone man. Tall, with red hair that shone brightly under the street lights. He was wearing jeans, and a jacket that was far too heavy for the current warm, summer night. He was staring out seemingly blankly to the world in front of him. Mickey watched for a few moments, strangely captivated by this stranger. Suddenly, his reverie was broken as random dude decided to climb the barrier. 

“Ey!” Mickey hollered, surprising the man. He stopped in his actions and Mickey took that as his cue to run towards him. “Yeah, you ain’t doing that.” He said as he grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him back

“What the fuck?” Ian spluttered as his back came into contact with the barrier separating the pedestrians from the vehicles. He rubbed the afflicted area before spitting out his frustration. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

“Yeah, no can do. I’m involved now and you’re not ruining a good week for me.” Ian looked at the man aghast. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Listen, this week has been great for me. Doesn’t happen that often. So I’m not about to watch you top yourself. Would really fuck up the whole good vibe I’ve got going.”

“Then walk away.” Ian replied, indignantly. Of all the reasons someone could have messed up this plan, bossy, selfish random dude was not on his list. Mickey shook his head and sighed.

“Yeah, can’t do that either. You see, I know what you were going to do so if I walk away now, then that makes me a really shitty person and I’m just a regular shitty person.” Ian was completely bewildered. “You’d probably survive the initial jump anyway and no one wants to drown, or die of hypothermia. There are easier ways.” Mickey wasn’t sure what he was doing. All he knew was he didn’t want this guy to die whilst he was standing there. He didn’t really want this guy to die. He looked about the same age as himself. Young enough to have a life in front of him. Whatever demons he was facing, he could overcome them. 

“So I’m not allowed to do this to make sure you don’t upgrade to really shitty status? That’s fucked up, man.” Ian sighed heavily, resigning himself to the fact that this guy was probably not going to suddenly turn round and give him the go ahead.

“You wanna talk?” Mickey asked, not realising he had thought up those words until they came tumbling out of his mouth. “Let’s grab a drink, we can talk or just sit in silence, doesn’t matter, but just wait, alright?” Ian looked out of the side of the bridge. The water below was dark but flowing steadily. Five minutes sooner and he would have escaped this world. Now, he was about to walk away with the most selfish fucker he’d likely ever meet. 

“Can we find somewhere quiet, like a park? I don’t want people seeing me.” Mickey quirked his brow but wasn’t about to argue with a guy who a few minutes previous was close to ending it all. He conceded and they wandered towards a local park. 

****

The park was dark and Mickey instinctively wrapped his hand around the knife in his pocket. He didn’t know why the guy was so adverse to somewhere warm and bright but at least they were away from the bridge. He wandered over to the bench and sat down, the guy sitting beside him.

“Mickey.” He spoke, offering his hand having momentarily released the grip on his knife. “And you?”

“Ian.” Ian liked using his real name. It meant that he could completely detach himself from his acting persona. Apparently when he had first got his big break, Ian was deemed too old and too boring. When they found out his middle name was Clayton, they latched on to it. Sometimes he’d forget where Clayton ended and Ian began. It was only when the depression came down on him like a lead weight that he realised that Ian was the only thing who was real. He was never Clayton when he was depressed. 

“So Ian, why you trying to top yourself?” Mickey offered him his freshly lit cigarette, musing that he only had two left; he’d just nick Mandy’s in the morning.

“Fuck, you don’t mince your words, do you?” Mickey shrugged as if to indicate there was little point, “Because why not? I’m sick, I’m not going to get better and I’m just dragging my family down.”

“Cancer? AIDs? Emphysema?” Ian stared at him, truly bewildered by the brashness of his personality. It had been a long time since someone had been this ballsy with him. Sure Carl could be quite blunt at times but there was always an understanding that he would never take it too far. He kind of liked this honest approach.

“Bipolar disorder.” 

“Shit man, is that that manic depression shit?” Mickey asked as he inhaled a lungful of smoke. He blew it out away from Ian but somehow kept his eyes on the redhead. “Tough break.” Ian nodded in agreement. There was a momentary silence whilst Mickey considered his next words. He had so many questions that he wanted to ask but didn’t know where to start. 

“I’ve got it for life. No cure, just management. Only sometimes things get fucked up. I can’t keep doing this to my family. They deserve to not be my caretaker when things go wrong.” Mickey stared out at the dark expanse in front of him. He knew of bipolar from one of the guys at his company. Said his mother had it. At the hospital once, she was convinced that someone was trying to call her so answered the call through the means of her sneaker. She didn’t remember it, but he certainly did. He glanced at Ian for a moment, wondering if he was going to add anymore. Ian stared down at his jeans before sliding his hands into both pockets. He slowly pulled them back out, this time clutching at the large rocks in them. “I weighted down the coat for extra insurance. I didn’t want to be bobbing about on the surface. If I had been thinking straight, I would have tied a cement block to my feet on a rope and then jumped.”

“Shit, that’s grim.” Mickey uttered. 

“A girl I knew, her dad did it that way. Took himself off ice fishing. Cut a hole, jumped in, block kept him under. Had the right idea. You got another smoke?” Mickey passed him one without a second thought. “I can’t go on like this, Mickey.”

“Yeah, but killing yourself man? That’s the only solution?” Ian turned to look at him, taking in his appearance. For a guy that he was determined to hate for derailing his plans, he was kind of glad that if this was his last conversation, the guy was turning out to be not too bad. 

“You got a better one?” 

“Change the bits that fuck you up.” 

“It’s not that simple.” Ian uttered, realising that the bits that fuck him up most are the bits that ensure he gets the best treatment when he gets fucked up. 

“Look, I don’t know your life story but you’re not the only one dealing with a shitty hand. People live with all kinds of shit every day. I wasn’t kidding before. This has been the best week of my life. I’m 27 and I can finally say that. And you know what I’ve done this week?” 

“Won the lottery?” Ian muttered, unsure he could cope with Mickey’s enthusiasm. 

“No. I’ve been able to live the life I want not the one anyone wanted of me. 10 years ago, I held a shotgun to my head.” That caused Ian to look at him suddenly. “Didn’t pull the trigger because I’m a selfish bastard and it would have given my dad too much satisfaction. His fucking faggot kid killing himself. Worked fucking hard to get out of his house. Did it, took my sister, worked damn fucking hard. Fucker died two weeks ago. This is the first week when I can say I’m free to be who I am and not give a fuck what anyone else says.”

“You’re gay?” Ian questioned, reeling from the various confessions in his speech. Mickey glanced at him before rolling his eyes.

“That’s what you took from all that? Christ, I laid my fucking soul out and that’s what you got?”

“No, no, I mean, sorry. I just, you, fuck. You didn’t kill yourself because you wanted to piss your dad off. I want to set my family free.” 

“They won’t be. Listen, my ass is going numb. Come stay the night, sleep on my couch and then tomorrow, if you still want to go ahead with this shit plan, I won’t stop you. And yes, I’m gay. Is that gonna be a problem?”

“Not in the slightest.” Mickey nodded before wandering out towards the street again. Ian followed closely behind. 

****

Mickey’s apartment was a marked difference from Ian’s house. It was on the third floor of a dodgy looking building. There was a collection of various food places at the bottom; Chinese, Vietnamese, Indian. However, when they entered the building, he was pleasantly surprised to see it nice decorated. He missed the grittiness of the Southside. He’d been 15 when Ned had decided that he should move to Los Angeles, Fiona entrusting his care to the older guy. Looking back, there had been questionable moments with Ned, but overall he was a good manager. However, he’d knocked it into him that Ian wouldn’t be able to live down here anymore. Everyone would crawl out of the woodwork and want a piece of him. Now that was limited to Ned himself and his family; constantly wanting a piece of him.

After trawling up the three floors, Mickey pushed open the door and wandered into his living room. It was a little untidy but very homely. There was a couch in the middle, a chair to one side, both bordering a coffee table. Off the living room was a small kitchen and then three rooms led off from where they were standing. Mickey did a quick tour, pointing to the various doors. 

“Mandy, my sister, works the night shift at a café, usually gets in at 5 or 6am but she’s quiet. Probably won’t bother you, probably won’t notice you on the couch to be honest. 10 hour shift on a Friday night, she’ll be like the walking dead. I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket.”

“You going to bed now?” Ian asked, suddenly looking a little lost. He knew that it was late and Mickey probably was tired, but he didn’t want to be on his own just yet. Mickey glanced at his face and couldn’t help but notice the sad expression permeating his features. He shook his head and sat down on the couch, prompting Ian to do the same. 

“You wanna watch a film? Got some action, comedy, horror?” Mickey spouted as he scrolled through Netflix, a lovely free gift from his neighbour in apartment 4B.  
Both men settled down to watch the remake of ‘It’ and it wasn’t long until they were enjoying the comfortable silence that filled the room. Halfway through, Ian was asleep on his shoulder, his mouth slightly open with soft snoring noises escaping. Mickey knew it was inappropriate to be thinking this, at this point in time, but the guy was unbelievably attractive. A different time, a different world, he could probably see himself with Ian. He carefully manoeuvred his body to lie the lanky guy as best as possible on the couch. He grabbed a pillow and slotted it under his head before dropping a blanket around his frame. 

“Night Ian. Hope you stay around.” 

**** 

The day dawned brightly, with light streaming through his window at 6am sharp. Mickey rolled on to his front and groaned into his pillow. It had been one hell of a night. His head was banging, so he reasoned a quick drink and some Tylenol and he could roll back into bed to see if he could squeeze out another hour or two of shut eye. He rose from his bed and threw a tank top on. He would sleep in his boxers only, and if it were just him and Mandy, he’d have no qualms walking around in just that. However, there was a chance Ian would still be around and awake. He pulled open the door and his heart sank. The couch was empty, the blanket folded neatly with the pillow sitting on top. He’d hoped above everything that he could have convinced Ian to change his mind. Maybe saying that he wouldn’t stop him again had been a bad idea. Mickey solemnly walked to the kitchen, grabbed a tumbler and ran the water. He heard the lock jangle as Mandy made her way in. 

“Morning assface, you’re up early?” She uttered, rubbing her tired eyes as she dropped her keys in the bowl by the door. “You got company?”

“Not anymore.” Mickey uttered mournfully. 

“Sucks man. See you later, I’m fucked.” Mandy ambled into her room, closing the door behind her. Mickey finished the water and popped two Tylenol before deciding he would just sleep on the couch. It was darker in the living room anyway. It had nothing to do with wanting to hang on to the little bit of Ian that was left. He unfolded the blanket and a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. Unfurling it, he read two simple words. Thank You. 

****

It had been over a week since his encounter with Ian but Mickey was still missing him in a way that was verging on unhealthy. They had spent a few hours together and done nothing but talk and watch a film. Well, half a film in Ian’s case. It had been a hard Thursday at the new site. They were working on the construction of an old people’s residence in the suburbs and he was ready to just euthanize all the elderly because it seemed like everything was going wrong. He dragged his weary ass into the apartment and flopped on the chair next to Mandy. She was lying down, snuggled against Ian’s pillow, watching some random shit on TV. 

“Not working tonight?” Mickey questioned as he let his head fall backwards on the chair. He stared at the ceiling, allowing his eyes to close for a moment.

“Nah, Rosa’s covering my shift tonight so I’ll work for her on Saturday.” She uttered as she threw more popcorn in her mouth, “Fuck, he is so fucking hot. Why are the hot ones gay?” Mickey glanced up and squinted at the screen. Was that Ian?

“Who’s that?” 

“Clayton Gallagher. There were these rumours going round that he had topped himself but he’s looking very much alive to me.” Mickey was confused beyond belief. The guy on the screen looked identical to Ian. Even spoke like him. That hair was unmistakable. “We should go see his new film when it comes out?”

“He’s an actor?” 

“Yeah, pretty big these days. I swear he’s hiding something though. Like everyone knows he’s gay, so it’s not because of that, but he’ll like have complete media blackouts every now and then. You know how everyone’s on social media these days. Well, he’ll be super active then nothing. For months. Then all of a sudden, poof! He’s back.”

“He’s bipolar. He’s called Ian.” Mickey uttered, not really knowing if he was trying to reconcile the guy on the screen with the one who was lying where Mandy was now. Or whether he was simply telling Mandy herself. She glanced at him, intrigue lining her face. 

****

“So Clayton, your new film is out next week. There is already Oscar buzz surrounding your performance. What’s next for you?” Ian knew she was skirting around the fact that he had been completely MIA for the last 6 weeks. 

After leaving Mickey’s that Saturday morning, he decided that he needed to make some changes in his life. He wasn’t happy and he knew that acting was the driving force in pushing him over the edge each time. He’d gone back to his house and called Fiona and Ned into a meeting. He sat them down and outlined everything that he wanted. Not a single thing involved him making another film. Legally, the film that he was due to be promoting was the last one with the studio he was working with. He had nothing lined up, though he had done a few auditions. Ned looked at him askance, questioning whether this was bipolar talking. Ian assured him that it wasn’t and that he should have done this a long time ago. 

After several hours, Ian had agreed to finish the promotion of the film but then he was done. He was retiring at 25 years of age. He was going to go back to school and see what else he was good at. He had enough saved to still look after his family to an extent, but he was no longer the one to make sure that they had everything they needed.  
Ian glanced at the host, Sylvia Sanders, and smiled brightly at her. His meds were back in alignment, a weight was off his shoulders and he was ready to tackle his future away from the spotlight. 

“Well Sylvia, after careful consideration, I’ve decided to retire from acting. This film will be my last and I will be stepping back from the limelight.” He could see that she wasn’t expecting this. No one in the studio was. He had just handed her an exclusive that no one would have predicted. 

“Oh, wow. Well, that is certainly a surprise. Why have you come to this decision?” It was now or never. He was tired of hiding the truth behind this carefully concocted fantasy world. The world where he was this happy, healthy persona called Clayton Gallagher. He wanted to be Ian Gallagher again, with all his flaws. 

“I’ve been acting for 11 years. In that time, I have been fighting a secret battle that has been kept within my family and team. I am bipolar and there have been times when I have not wanted to go on. I had an encounter with someone recently who made me realise that I am not happy with the direction my life is going in. So I’ve made some changes and one of them will be my career. I am thankful to all my fans and all the support I have received from them over the years. However, I am putting my health first for a change.” Ian glanced at the screen and flashed a smile that Mickey had wished he had seen in person. 

“How did you know?” Mandy questioned, suddenly sitting up right as intrigue got the better of her. The bowl of popcorn titled on her thigh causing the remnants to fall on to the floor. 

“You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”


End file.
